Going to the very heart of Zen.

October 31, 2007

Naively, we look upon the body as if it were simultaneous with consciousness. But according to the Buddha consciousness apprehends name and form which means that consciousness actually preexists the body (here, ‘name and form’ refer to the physical body and the mentations which are localized within it).

Imagine the mess we would be in if the physical body, with respect to time, came before consciousness so that our consciousness had to helplessly watch the body do something crazy. In this situation we might be like helpless passengers in the backseat of a car being driven by someone who was under the influence of alcohol. We could only watch what was happening from our passive position.

Unless there is some part of us which is completely prior to the body that is, also, naturally linked with body, it would be impossible to control our body. The body is something, in this respect, that is animated and posterior to consciousness. Our consciousness, insofar as it is observational, is the result of the invisible inflow of mind which, in Buddhism, is will-like and animative. As such, observational consciousness can, in the words of Zen master Hui-neng, be aware of its original face before it was born which is the animative mind.

In a state of ignorance we are only conscious of our animated body. By the same token, we are also conscious of suffering and death, which happens only to the carnal body of which we are aware. Being sufferants, we are unconscious of the mind which is free of suffering, life giving, and, essentially, disembodied. Our consciousness, in ignorance, is only going in one direction; thus, limiting itself.

Mind, especially, activates the entire body while consciousness is aware of the activated body as a determinate, concrete thing—as felt being. Consciousness also has the additional capacity to be aware of the pure or pristine nature of Mind, itself, and is thereby able to realize nirvana which is liberated mind as pure Mind. By being aware of pure Mind, consciousness no longer comes to subsist, dependently, upon the physical body as it once did. Its new object is now the pure Mind which is luminous and and primordially disembodied.

This new consciousness is a reversal from its previous condition. Whereas before it was aware of only name and form, now consciousness is aware of the disembodied nature of pure Mind which is nirvana.

In such a state, one is conscious of the body being energized which means that one is disembodied, relatively speaking. To energize means to animate the body such that animation is one thing, and the thing animated is another which is subordinate and dependent. But this is not to imply any sort of stark separation. Rather, the separation is a spiritual one. It is somewhat analogous to the surging of water and its subsequent bubbling. Ordinarily, we are never aware of this process taking place within us. We have never known, otherwise, than to be enthralled with the animated body, bearing its pain. This is the human affliction. This is the noble truth of suffering which is not the ordinary kind of suffering.

October 28, 2007

To learn Zen is to study it in its most profound depth. Short of this one is studying Zen only to become confused. To be so confused is to learn about robes or special Zen ceremonies or how to hold one’s hands when meditating.

To be confused also means to read a fews words that a particular teacher has written. As an example, it means that one has read some of Dogen’s words. They seem quite satisfied that this is the proper context of Zen. But this is only to stay in a state of confusion.

To escape this confusion it is important to see the overarching context of Buddhism and how Zen connects with it in its own unique way.

So what is the overarching context of Buddhism? It is to understand that we are spiritual beings, called sattvas, who are ignorant of the fact that they are deeply attached to the carnal body so that whatever happens to this body, they believe this is happening to them. Included in this context is that sattvas can escape this fate by realizing nirvana which is not born or subject to death; having no subordinate connection with the carnal body.

Now what is the unique way of Zen that connects with this? It is to see the pure Mind to be the very substance of the ordinary mind which is not attached to the body.

Harking back to the depth the Zen, in order to see the pure Mind requires that one must have great intelligence. The deeper one looks within their inner most being for the pure Mind the more critical it is to identify the impure states of mind (the Vairocana Sutra describes 160 such minds!). These impure states are ever changing whereas the pure Mind is unaffected, pristine, and luminous. The greatest hindrance is to confuse awareness with the pure Mind. By doing so one will never attain Bodhicittopada this being the manifestation of the enlightened mind which is the reception of the sprout of the Bodhi-tree. Such a person will be forever stuck in the fifth aggregate of consciousness. With Bodhicittopada the Zennist has what it takes to become a Buddha. This is the end of confusion and the beginning of the path to true wisdom (prajna).

October 26, 2007

Wisdom or prajna in Buddhism has nothing to do with the accumulation of knowledge or facts. The Dalai Lama is not wise, for example, because he can find answers to our social problems such as war or global warming. He is wise because he can inwardly distinguish between the pure Mind or ‘Clear light’ and the carnal body made up of the Five Aggregates which can be thought of as attributes. Said another way, when we realize that we are not anyone of the Five Aggregates, apperceiving our true nature, instead, this is wisdom. To also be able to differentiate the pure Mind from the coarse mind, which is just the vibration of Suchness (tathata), is also wisdom.

With respect to emptiness (shunyata) in Prajna-paramita literature, which is synonymous with Suchness or tathata, wisdom or prajna is the ability to distinguish emptiness, as a kind of transcendent element (dharmadhatu), from its attributes, namely, the Five Aggregates or skandhas. Perhaps Zen master Tsung-mi presents the notion of emptiness even better: “The first level is True Emptiness. This corresponds to the Dharmadhatu or principle. Fundamentally, its actual essence is only the Fundamental Mind.” It is worth adding that the Lankavatara Sutra says that unborn emptiness is better than emptiness which is born (jata).

Thus, the aggregate of form is really a composition of true emptiness or tathata. In this context, form is a kind of emptiness vibration. It is the same with the rest of the aggregates such as sensation, perception, experience/volition, and consciousness. These can also be characterized as modes of emptiness in which emptiness is a spiritual substance like aether.

In the pericope of the Heart Sutra which reads: "form is emptiness, emptiness is form", this is meant to emphasize that from the standpoint of wisdom the first aggregate of form belongs to emptiness just as the color blue belongs to the sky. But this pericope also says that emptiness, which is form, has the capacity or power to form itself or sensationalize itself (the second aggregate).

When a realized being such as the Buddha looks upon the Five Aggregates they resemble a beautiful reflection upon the surface of a pond, the pond representing emptiness. The reflection on the pond’s surface is precisely water (that is, emptiness) while, at the same time, the water of the pond has the attribute of reflecting just as gold has the attribute of being malleable.

One who is wise, therefore, can distinguish pure Mind from the coarse mind or true emptiness from the empty thing (which is formed emptiness). They can also distinguish their true nature from the Five Aggregates or the undying from the dying. They can distinguish nirvana from samsara or the false world from the true kingdom of light (svarga). Ordinary people can’t do this. They only perceive their aggregated body which is like a beast tied to the sacrificial stake of the external world. The Ten Stages Sutra says:

“Because it is covered over by the layered clouds of the Five Aggregates, sentient beings do not see it. If you encounter the spiritual wind of wisdom, it blows away the Five Aggregates. When the layers of clouds are totally gone, the enlightened nature is shining perfectly bright, clear, and pure.”

What also seems evident is that wisdom demands a special kind of practice whereby we cross over to the pure Mind more and more rather than always valorizing the coarse mind and this world. If we have gained a true glimpse into our Buddha-nature, or true emptiness, then we should develop and enrich it, increasing our wisdom. Above all, we should be engaged with meditation upon this pristine nature so that it becomes more avoiding, at the same time, our former habit of valorizing false reality which conceals ultimate reality.

October 23, 2007

I just got back from Emory University’s first summit on religion, conflict and peacebuilding with the Dalai Lama. As we might expect the Dalai Lama made some wonderful observations as did the other members of the summit which included Rabbi David Rose, Professor Rajmohan Gandhi, Sister Joan Chittister, and Professor Abdullahi Amed An-Na’im. I am sure Emory will have a transcript of the summit which I can share with you at a later time.

But right now I want to add my two cents worth from Zen’s perspective as to why we are not moving towards peace in a significant way, especially in America. I know it will sound strange to say this, but the road to peace begins when we begin to look inwardly. Where else might we expect to find peace?

Looking deeply within ourselves is the process of introspection. Moreover, it is a path towards our authentic being that makes a clearing, in you like, which goes beyond who we are in terms of the social person. Our authentic being, I hasten to add, lies deep within us. It is beyond our senses, desires and, especially, our emotions which make up the social person. It is even beyond the death of this body with which we presently engaged. This is also the road to peace since peace is marked by freedom from oppressive thoughts and emotions which arise as a result of our extreme attachment to the body and the world in which it exists.

In a nutshell, those who are engaged in introspection; who are seeking their authentic being gradually become more peaceful.

The very opposite of introspection is to be one-sidedly engaged with the external world which is exhibited through our senses. This is not freedom since anyone who is engaged with the external world has no sense of their authentic being which lies in the opposite direction.

Those who are one-sidedly engaged with the external world live as victims of circumstances; of going from one shallow identity to the next; playing role after role. In fact, the social person is little more than an aggregate of roles. By trying to find our authentic being in the external world we become a protean being. We don’t know the answer to “Who am I?” Such an endeavor also goes against true peace which is dependent upon the depth of our introspection in which the bearer of the senses lets go of the social being and beholds the eternal medium of all (Dharmadhatu). Thus, to know our self which is our authentic being, is to attain great peace—a peace beyond the body’s existence and its death.

In Zen, the first level of introspection and the beginning of peace begins when our mind is free from sensuous and worldly concepts. In the midst of sensuous and worldly mental images, which are strongly felt, we are able to pass through them by means of introspection. As result, we are no longer intensely attracted to them. Repeating introspection over time takes away the enchanting power of what our senses bring to us in the way of emotional and worldly concepts. We discover that mental images are just images—nothing more. Their power to incite us and to move us to extremes, which is the basis for violence, is greatly diminished. At the same time, we enter into a more peaceful state of being. Our patience is, also, greatly enhanced. In fact, it can be argued that a small amount of this kind of introspection is the proper antidote for a frame of mind which is bent on aggression which, in turn, leads to violence.

It is interesting to note, that all of the main speakers at the Emory University summit on religion, conflict and peacebuilding agreed that peace begins at home, that is, within each of us.

October 17, 2007

It would not be amiss to treat dhyana (Ch., ch’an; Jp., zen) and the Greek word, theoria, which we know in English as “theory”, as members of the same family. According to Plato, theoria is direct knowledge of ‘what is’. This is what dhyana means, also. To use the analogy of eating a hot red pepper, to directly engage with the taste of that red pepper so as to know its hotness is theoria. By the same token, in Zen practice we wish to be directly acquainted with the pure Mind if only to stick our toe in its divine waters. This is heart of Zen.

Presented in a slightly different way, the chief object of dhyanic or theoretic knowing is apperception of the absolute, or the same, the Buddha-nature. By no means is this to be confused with comparative or discursive knowing which is the work of reason. Dhyanic comprehension is higher than whatever reason may plant and harvest from the field of samsara. As to why reason is inferior to dhyana, it is because it operates on behalf of the body and its relationship with the external world. It is also tied to language and definitional knowledge. Of course, reason has its place in Zen. But it can never directly contemplate (dhyana) our true nature.

October 12, 2007

I just got back from seeing new the movie, Into the Wild, which is directed by Sean Penn. Sean Penn’s movie is based on Jon Krakauer’s popular book by the same name. Krakauer's book is a biography of Chris McCandless, who graduated from Emory University with honors in 1990 and was later found dead in the Alaskan wilderness in 1992.

After watching Penn’s film, I found it to be a necessary supplement to Krakauer’s spellbinding book. Sean Penn adds the color to Krakauer’s engaging print which serves to unlock the emotional side of Chris McCandless. The movie can only be described as awe inspiring both in cinematic innovation and emotional depth. Perhaps more importantly, as a director, Penn knows when the actor has touched the psychical depth of his character. In this film, this is especially important because the subject is really about a spiritual pilgrimage in which the heart is the main character.

With this in mind, to watch this film is to see the Emory graduate, Chris McCandless, resurrected as an enigmatic spirit who becomes—I dare say—a modern Siddhartha Gautama who goes into the Alaskan forest, after renouncing the world of his father, in order to find salvation and, ultimately, the answer to death’s mystery.

In the story of Siddhartha Gautama who became, eventually, the Buddha, the kingdom of his father, Shuddhodana, is meant to symbolize the abstract world of appearance, which we moderns call civilization. Civilization is not the real world. It is a world which attempts to hide aging, disease, death, and, importantly, the means to overcoming these ills which is wholly spiritual. Of course, Shuddhodana, the father of Siddhartha, does not want his son to renounce his world and go into the wild forest becoming a seeker of nirvana. But for the young Siddhartha, his father’s artificial world cannot free him from the fear of death and rebirth. Siddhartha’s vocation can only be found in the forest (in Sanskrit, “vana”). And for Chris McCandless, his vocation, like Siddhartha’s will be in the wilds of Alaska, having renounced his father’s world.

Where the path to the real world begins, which is free of appearance and artifice, is in the forest or, the same, the wild. It is in the wild that we behold the frightening implications of our birth, as fragile corporeal beings, and the reality of our death which, if spirit is realized within us, is transcended by nirvana.

In Sean Penn’s direction of the film, we have no choice but to bond with the spiritual person named Alex, a name that Chris chose much like a Buddhist monk who receives a new name when he renounces the world. Penn, I believe, achieves the effect of bonding us with Alex by making us identify with the various characters Alex meets during his quest to get to Alaska.

In the last scenes of the film, as the audience—Alex’s last friend—Penn makes us watch Alex face the cold reality of his death. For unlike Siddhartha Gautama, the asceticism of Alex catches up with him, although, like Siddhartha, Alex seems to have made a conscious decision to end this particular form of asceticism and find a new path like Siddhartha. (After giving up his asceticism, Siddhartha meets the maiden Sujata who gives him a fertility elixir by which he gains access to the mysterious Bodhi-tree subsequently conquering death becoming, at last, a Buddha.)

Tragically, Alex succumbs to death. But we, the audience, in Penn’s film have endured a catharsis in the last scene. By it, we are given the chance to create a sacred path for ourselves like Siddhartha Gautama and Alex, that will end, not so much with death, but with its possible transcendence. This, by the way, is the real truth of nirvana which can also mean “to leave the forest” in the sense of transcending the world of birth and death. But such transcendence truly begins by renouncing this world by going into the wild (vana).

October 11, 2007

The term “aryan” is used quite often in Buddhism to describe a type of being who has, in some measure, realized the spiritual world having, so to speak, stepped beyond the pale of the mundane. In the Vedas, where the term is first used, an aryan is “one who is radiating light” (jyotir-agrah). In this respect, the Buddhist aryan is one who has been initiated into the fundamental teachings of Buddhism which has to do with experiencing the pure Mind, which is also described as being radiant.

Aryanism, if one might put it so, is the belief that man has an eternal spiritual nature that animates the corporeal body. Man, in other words, is not mere flesh. Those who sense this spiritual nature, in some degree; who are drawn to it so they might partake of it, are the true aryans. Aryanism is, therefore, not a racial term. There is no such thing as an aryan race. Knowing one’s spiritual nature transcends race and DNA. To live as an aryan is to care about one’s higher self so that one is always engaged with it rather than with the lower self which is the limited corporeal being (satkaya).

In contrast with the aryan are the materialists. Materialists can only perceive the absence of light, that is, the dark. Dark, in this sense, is the non-animating thing-world which is in a state of want being forever incomplete. The spiritual sense of light and darkness is expressed best in the Christian Gospel of John where the pericope reads: “And the light (phos) in the darkness shines and the darkness apprehended it not.” It should be mentioned, too, that the Buddhist devil, i.e., Mara the Evil One, is also described as being dark (kanha); who is the lord of the material world in which the cycle of birth and death continues without cessation. Of Mara, it can be said that he performs non-aryan deeds that bind sentient beings in ‘thick darkness’.

October 09, 2007

We live and work in the world of appearance. The mind which does this is not the Buddha Mind. It is the coarse human mind. It is the mind of appearance which subsists on the gross senses and especially the carnal body. We are all masters of this mind. Some of us are really caught up in this mind. We are completely under its spell; doing its bidding as if the coarse mind is the only mind possible.

When we go to our Dharma centers to listen to the Lama or a Zen teacher, we go there with the coarse mind of appearances. It is the mind we use to get into our SUVs and drive. It is the mind that worries about leaving our child with the babysitter. When we are at the Dharma center, it is the mind that is engaged with meeting our Dharma friends as we sit waiting for the Lama or the Zen teacher.

When the Lama or Zen teacher finally comes out in his beautiful robes, and does a little ceremony, our interest is piqued. It is the coarse mind which appreciates this pageantry. It is the coarse mind which is aroused although some might believe otherwise. Indeed, it is easy to impress the coarse mind. It is our favorite mind. It is like the mind of the child which is preoccupied with gross forms and sensations. The mind of a child lacks any ability to engage with the subtle because it is habitually engaged with appearances and sensations. The modern adult mind is very childish in this respect. It, too, is engaged with appearances and sensations.

During the sermon, the coarse mind doesn’t pay too much attention to the words of the sermon. When this mind hears the words, “It is the universal nature of mind that encompasses all of samsara and nirvana,” the coarse mind is clueless as to what this refers. The coarse mind has no inkling of anything other than gross appearances. If the Lama or Zen teacher explains that the Buddha Mind is perfectly clear, and undisturbed like the surface of a pond, the coarse mind doesn’t understand. When it looks for this higher Mind in the midst of the riot of coarse mind states, it is unable to see it. It certainly can’t see it in the thoughts which have just arisen, or briefly abide, and then disappear.

The only thing the Lama or Zen teacher can do is to keep preaching about the Buddha Mind which is devoid of coarse images. He or she can also act as a representative of the higher Buddha Mind. There is really not much else they can do except, by skillful means, explain its importance in respect to life and death. For indeed, life is just the birth of the coarse mind while death is giving up a particular coarse mind-object only to take up another—again caught in samsara.

This is a sad state of affairs. But this lower, coarse mind is all that the huge majority of mankind knows; who seem to be content to follow appearances. No government wishes to teach it in school. It would be bad for the economy, also. Why would anyone buy a lot of useless things if communion with the Buddha Mind brought them great joy and bliss?

Trying to get people to even appreciate the worth of the Buddha Mind is a daunting task for any Lama or Zen teacher. People, as a rule don’t want to change very much. By going to a Dharma center they don’t wish to see the pure Mind, they are just going for fellowship. Most Buddhists don’t know anything about Buddhism; nor do the have the time to learn about it in depth. They are too busy with the coarse mind.

October 04, 2007

The world of dependent origination is this very world of birth and death. It is also the world of time or the same, samsara, in which there is no ultimate reality to be experienced. There is just a succession of rebirths. The counterpart of dependent origination is nirvana which is timeless and beyond the pale of phenomena. Nirvana also transcends birth and death. It is the end of rebirth.

We might think of nirvana this way. A clay pot appears as a result of giving clay form on a potter’s wheel. It thus becomes a dependent origination. When clay is in the form of a pot, the pot is now subject to breakage. By the same token, what is not subject to breakage—which possesses zero pot-ness—is the clay, itself.

Applying this analogy to mind, when the unborn mind attaches itself to mind-phenomena it enters samsara, which is also dependent origination. This condition is the everyday world of birth and death in which we struggle to live.

On the other hand, if mind turns away from its phenomena, seeing its pure animative nature which is unborn and unconditioned, it attains nirvana which transcends the world of dependent origination.

October 02, 2007

To transcend birth and death, one has to open and penetrate the Mind-ground (hsin-ti).” — Zen master Yuan-wu

The koan, according to Zen master Yuan-wu, is the instrument or key by which we open up the Mind-ground. This opening is done, not by a kind of literary analysis, which amounts to the production of possible meanings, but by investigating what can only be described as the living word. The living word is not meant to be an interpretation since, by the very nature of language, there is no limit to different ways of interpreting a koan.

Words that constitute the living word, or huo-chü, reach the primordial Mind-ground, itself. Put another way, living words are not like words which have been entrapped in investigating the meaning of a koan. Living words are really like a knock on a door where the Mind-ground suddenly opens up for us. On the other hand, dead words provide us with dead explanations and rationalizations. They are incapable of taking us to the word’s very source (hua-t’ou) which is beyond words, but which, nevertheless, makes language possible.

Invariably, when the Mind-ground opens for us we are able to experience the living light which best describes pure Mind. When we reach this ground, subsequently, everything we do afterwards reveals the true life of Zen whether it is putting on our sandals, making tea, or shouting “Wu!” We realize that all of mundane existence, from the standpoint of the Mind-ground, is a mere projection of its immense productivity. Speaking about this productivity, one day Zen master Yuan-wu said: “As soon as Yun-men picks up his staff we immediately see the boundless, marvelous productivity.”

Naturally, this marvelous productivity is ineffable. For those who know and see it, it is a constant delight. But for those who haven’t, it is too late. All they see is what has passed, as it were, an afterimage. It is the world of the dead—not the living. From the vantage point of a Zen master like Yuan-wu, the vast multitude of human beings were dead rather than living. They were more interested in the body than the living light which animates it; or more interested in their concepts than the formative power which makes them appear. Without a doubt, everyone who has not witnessed the Mind-ground is doomed to revolve in the cycle of birth and death. It is even worse for those who reject its possibility.